


Resistance Stories: Una Magica Avventura

by DamnedBeret



Category: Original Work, XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Half-assed Worldbuilding Attempts, Long War of the Chosen, No Beta, No shipping, So many Insurgency reference to the point of actual crossover, enjoy my shitty sense of humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22448926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamnedBeret/pseuds/DamnedBeret
Summary: When people think of XCOM, they usually get mental images of unstoppable commandos always coming into Administration Sectors to liberate humanity from the Elder's clutches. But nobody ever thinks of the Outskirts, a realm stuck and reversed to centuries prior, and a realm filled with unspeakable powers different from humanity's technology and their own psionic powess.When people think of XCOM, they usually get mental images of Menace Squad, Task Force 141, or whatever squad wiping out armies of ADVENT with breakneck speed. But nobody ever thinks of Fireteam Alpha, an expendable and tactical team tasked with advisory, infiltration and [DATA EXPUNGED] duties.When people think of XCOM, they usually get tales of wars and epicness, not a semi-coherent rambling abouta magical adventurefrom some Outskirt-assimilated place that leaves more questions than answers.Somewhat shares the same universe as "The XCOM Anthology Set" by ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal, which can be changed depending on said author's permission.
Relationships: I lack the skills to write a relationship., None, Seriously - Relationship, no - Relationship
Kudos: 2





	Resistance Stories: Una Magica Avventura

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tales From The Wrong Side Of The Avenger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068225) by [ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal/pseuds/ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Làm việc ở đây thật ra thì cũng tàm tạm. Nếu mà chúng mày có thể mặc kệ bọn tôn giáo bệnh hoạn đấy, bọn dân thường quê mùa lạc hậu hết mức, và bọn nữ quỷ quái hay hiếp dâm và bắt quân ta thì mày sẽ sống được. May ra ADVENT luôn mặc kệ quân kháng chiến ở đây."
> 
> Translation: _"Working in [the Quarantine Zone] is not so bad. If you're willing to deal with crazy cultists, primitive locals, and hormonal monster girls who want to make you their sex slave, you'll set. At least ADVENT always avoid Resistance positions here."_
> 
> Lance Corporal Nguyễn Anh Minh (callsign: Slant) current XCOM Advisor to Resistance Outpost **"Cesspit."**

**_23:59..._ **

**_On a Monday..._ **

**_[REDACTED], Outskirt North..._ **

* * *

"You know, guys," Mentions a man with an official Russian accent. "If anything goes off, it'll be hard to justify the locals that we don't exist."

"Depends on what happens, Merc." Answers a male Texan. "Locals aren't active in the dark, but shit happens. Who knows, maybe your ex-wife will show up during the op."

"Very funny, Crown." 

"What're you clowns talking about?" Right next to Crown, another American raises his tired voice. "Please don't tell me you're gonna jinx the op."

It is Crown who replies to Buzzkill. "No boss, just talking about the bet." Then he turns at the only female occupant in the cramped van. "Azura, what's the pool at now?" 

The aforementioned Azura let out a small sigh and answers, with an Arabic accent: "Save it, Crown, you have your chance-"

"Hey, if I'm gonna die in this place, I'd like to die with at least some cash to my name." He retorts. "So, when's the betting closed?" 

"When we leave the car." She confirms. "Are you going to call it?" 

"Depends on the cash." 

"150 minimum." Under her neck gator, Militia's mouth is starting to twist into a smirk. "I bet it was a stray Gatekeeper." 

Buzzkill calls out. "Raising to 200. Psionic radiation." 

Merc scoffs to all of them. "Pussies, all of you. Bet it is the Templars. Or what's left of their mind orgy." He doesn't give a number, however, and decides to wait until Crown starts the bet. 

And so, the Texan goes: "350. Given the intel – ADVENT incursion. That's my final call."

"Bold, aren't you Crown. I'll go to 500."

The New Jerseyman whistles aloud. "You sure you wanna risk it, Merc? You know we have very long grudges when it comes with-"

"Money and poker, I know. And that's the damn fun, boss." The Russian can't help but crack a mischievous grin. "I go high or go home."

"In a body bag." Azura finishes. "Your funeral, Merc."

"Hell yeah!" Yells out the Texan. "I've always wanted to take your fucking money!"

"You sure about that, Texas?" The Russian taunts Crown. "I still have your 100 bucks back in Mosul, so don't count on your luck."

"And I intend to collect that bet with interests, so don't you count on your luck either, Ruskie."

"Oh god, not this again." Buzzkill mutters to himself, and then he raises his voice. "C'mon, you guys gotta chill out with the-"

"Fuck off, Buzzkill." Both of them say at the same time.

He can only shake his head at his team's shenanigans. "Fine, you sons of bitches. Have fun tearing your throats out. Let's see who's laughing when I have your little blood money later."

He suddenly feels a presence on his left shoulder. "And it's gonna be me, boss. Don't you people forget it." The Arabic woman says to him and the rest of them, with the creepiest voice and face she can muster.

It only manages to make the mood sillier.

The entire fireteam has to let out some well-meaning laughs. The threats to their lives and their wallets aside, it's still lovely to spend some time chatting and betting with old friends and comrades, especially when they have about 99% chance that they're going to fucking perish horribly the moment they enter the AO.

The topic switches from the bet to the hundreds of previous poker matches, then to their general lives and how utterly horrible they are, and then to trash-talking other squads in their organization. A special mention goes to a field op fireteam known as Task Force 141 – a British fireteam consists of SAS members – whose love for explosions rivals Michael Bay's own fiery fetish, which has been noted and mocked about. 

But all good things must come to an end, especially when the ride they are riding has a destination. And the end comes when someone decides to knock on the windshield. The team stops their banter and looks at the sources of the intrusion.

"Hey!" Calls out a person in the shotgun seat. "We're getting close, you'd better start preparing for a dismount."

Their faces collectively morph from carefree joy to a mix of concern and typical soldiers' professionalism, their body languages immediately straighten and sharpen themselves, their eyes simultaneously reform from soft familiarity to hard determination. The team reminds themselves that they are still in operation, and they must prepare themselves for combat.

"A-firm." Confirms Buzzkill, then he switches to his professional tone to address the team. "Red-light, people. Prep your gear."

And just like that, everything returns to silence. Each and every single occupant in the passenger side start checking their plate carriers, their headgears, their helmets, and then their weapons.

For Buzzkill, after securing his MOLLE belt, his magazine pouches, his admin pouch, and his weapons, he wears a shemagh so that the piece of clothing can cover his mouth and nose without obstructing the helmet and the night vision goggles. After that, he goes on and rechecks his gear. 

Crown, after going through the so-called 'red-light ritual' of his own, also take a quick count of his grenades. He also decides to fix his scarf, so it wraps comfortably around his neck, and then he covers his face with a said scarf. When that is all done, he takes a quick look at the rifle.

Like everyone else's, his weapon is a coil short barrel rifle with 30 rounds in its magazine, fitted with a holographic sight with a toggleable hybrid magnifier, a skeleton sliding stock, a suppressor, a flashlight, and an infrared laser sight. Unlike everyone else's, instead of a vertical foregrip under the barrel guard like the rest of his team, there is an under-barrel grenade launcher when shit goes hot.

While Azura's neck gator has rested nicely on her face, she decides to toy with it so that she can comfortably breathe through the fabric. She returns to securing her armor, gloves and then mentally counts the amount of ammo she has (hint: much more than others) and the amount of ammo she might fire during the operation.

Unlike the rest of his team, the Russian had already done his checking rounds earlier. Merc turns his attention to the balaclava on his hands. The Russian smiles when he sees the familiar white skull on the piece of wool. After wearing the face wear, he does a final check so that it doesn't interfere with the helmet and the night vision gear.

"Hey, we're almost here!" The driver calls out. "About 1 more minute!" 

Buzzkill ends his constant checking by satisfyingly slamming his gun's bolt release, sending a bullet into the chamber. Other team members, after finishing their problems, also do the same thing.

"You guys okay?" Asks aloud Buzzkill.

"ايوه." Acknowledges Azura.

"Да." Replies Merc.

"I'm good, how about you, boss?" Asks Crown.

"Yep." Confirms the team leader.

They can feel the car slowly decreasing its speed, and the ride is becoming less bumpy. And just a moment later, the vehicle grinds to a halt.

"We're here, people! Leave the vehicle!" The driver yells again. Buzzkill nods, then wordlessly signal his team to get out.

Militia opens the sliding door to the side, and the team swiftly exits the van with weapons raised.

"Let's get this done." Mutters Merc as he is just leaving the damn vehicle. 

"TOC, this is Alpha-0-1, we've entered the AO and now are moving into the objective, over." The New Jerseyman calls out in his radio. Meanwhile, the two drivers exit their own van, with the same equipment and weapons as the team, and then break off to protect the primary EVAC point.

A second later, he hears a response.

 _"Roger, 0-1."_ It is Central Officer John Q. Bradford, head of the organization's Tactical Operations Center. _"Be advised; we're tasking Cleric for fire support and secondary EVAC duty. Be careful, gentlemen. Out."_

The team raises their collective eyebrows. Cleric is the callsign for the one and only gunship pilot. If he is called, then there must be something that requires the sheer amount of firepower that he brings. Or it is because his gunship doubles as a troop transport, and they cannot spare Firebrand for reasons unknown (hint: it relates to yet another adventure odyssey of Menace Squad.)

They take cover behind the vehicle, before breaking off and forming a fireteam wedge to advance to their objective. The team's entrance point? A cave.

The wedge breaks off into two-person groups, each taking cover behind a wall of solid stones. After assessing the situation, Buzzkill signals Azura to take point, who quickly follows the order to a T. She enters the cave first with her team leader right behind her, and then the two remaining operatives. When they come to the darkness, where no one will ever hear them scream, they flip down their NVGs and continue their mission, for they are not afraid of the dark.

They are here for their mission.

* * *

**_XCOM Encounters the Wondrously and Magically Occult Bullshit_ **

**_Resistance Stories: Una Magica Advventura_ **

'Starring':

Michael Tsarouhas as _**Buzzkill**_

Adam James as _**Crown**_

Lara Sawalha as _**Azura**_

Alexander Mercury as _**Merc**_

* * *

"Clear." Azura calls out. 

"Clear." Merc continues. 

"Clear." Confirms Crown. 

"Clear." Buzzkill finishes. "Jesus, the place's fucking empty." 

It's quite safe to say that the fireteam has scoured the entire cave systems and came out with nothing. And it is not just simple nothing; there is naught but a single soul – not even traces of animals – in this cursed land. And yet there are still traces of unusual psionic powers nearby, taunting the team to find the source of it. 

"Well, we've searched every nook and cranny in the caves and ended with fuck all." Sarcastically tells the Russian. "What are the odds." 

"Still lots of psi signals nearby." The team leader calls out, and so he whispers thus: "We should've just bombed the entire mountain range." 

"Too late for that now." Quips Crown, who heard him quite clearly. 

"No shit." Sometimes he wonders if his fireteam can do better if they have a Specialist. The GREMLIN operators can scan the area around for anything they have missed, which is something he really wants right now. But no, he has to make do with a psionic scanner on his hands that is faulty. 

Since the psi signals are so oversaturated in the caves, the scanner, created to solely detect the highest psi emitter in the vicinity solely (for example, an alien main psionic information relay, not its smaller nodes), simply cannot pinpoint the source. In fact, it had been malfunctioned long before they utterly scouted the place. 

Frustrated, he slaps the scanner when the screen glitches again. 

"Useless." He spits out. He really wants to toss the metal object to the nearest solid object, but he simply cannot. At least, even when the thing is getting increasingly closer to exploding on his hands, some useful intel can still be gathered. 

"Buzzkill, if your gambit doesn't pull off-" Azura asks him. 

"Then we report to TOC and call an airstrike on the area." He finishes, then orders the team. "Mindshields on." 

The team reaches a small button on their respective helmets. The Mindshield Mk-4, integrated to their ballistic helmets, is one of the most useful trinkets that R&D cooked up after the Head Scientist did an autopsy on one of the aliens. True to its name, the mindshield shields the user from every but the mightiest mental psi attack and cures any previous mental aliment. The utility of the thing made Buzzkill order 8 of them, and it is now standard-issue to his fireteam. It does have some quirks that render any manmade psi equipment useless, but since the scanner is all but fucked to them, it might help out his team again. 

He also wants to test out a theory of his. 

By the time the equipment booted up, it feels like he can see things more straightforward. The first thing he can see is the scanner immediately going to lockdown mode, with the screen flashing red and _"WARNING: MINDPROTECTOR DETECTED – SCANNER DISABLED!"_ like Christmas. He wisely turns off and put the device away before he permanently damages the portable scanner. The next thing he realizes that the entire cave looks less bright than before, with most of the color purple dissipating into thin air. Then the ground gives way and shows trails of life around, even footprints of humans and... something else. Said paths lead to a previously nonexistent entry on the cave walls. 

So his suspicions are correct. He and his fellow operatives were mentally compromised. 

"Ah, hell." He hears Crown mutter right behind him. "No wonder the scanner went apeshit earlier." He is unsurprisingly calm after being mentally hindered by background psi powers. 

His statement is followed by everyone else verbally or non-verbally agreeing to a certain degree. 

Let's just say that the fireteam had a lot of prior messy psionic encounters and leave it like that. 

"TOC, this is Alpha-0-1." Buzzkill reports on the comms. "We've uncovered a passage hidden by background psi signals. Area appears to have either non-euclidean geometry or a portal that extends the caves to an unknown degree. Moving in to reconnoiter the new area, over." 

_"Acknowledged, 0-1, continue the mission. If you think that the AO is too large for you to secure, get out, and call a fire mission on the area, over."_ So sayeth Central back at base.

"Roger, 0-1 out."

Immediately after that, the team takes cover behind the walls again. After scouting the area, Buzzkill signals the team to move up, with Azura being the point man, and push into the newly discovered narrow entry. And so she braved forward, with Buzzkill, Merc, and Crown right behind her, respectively. 

The narrow pathway gives way to an empty larger room. In response, the team then splits off and reforms into a loose skirmisher formation. After making sure that the place is indeed clear, the unit switches into a column formation and push up. They pass through a gate and see a new chamber.

"TOC, Alpha-0-1. We've passed the entrance, moving to SSE, over."

_"Roger, 0-1. Keep moving, we need as many intel as we need, out."_

Indeed, the chamber is much larger than what logic dictates. It is, in fact, an ancient temple of a sort, solely focusing on a strange mural etched on the central obelisk, which is also elevated by several platforms. There exists an unnatural light source (forcing the team to flip up and disable the NODs) that shines on the mural and the garden in front of it. When the team leader gazes upon the anomalous object, he can feel something is... happening in his helmet, like some sort of stress on the mindshield. 

That leaves way too many uncomfortable implications, especially when all his team is in the lion's den. 

The chamber is simply too large to cover if they keep grouping up like this, so he signals the team to split up. The four-man team divides itself into two groups, each with a point man and wingman. Azura pairs up with Merc, and they will cover the right side of the chamber, while he pairs up with Crown and handles the left. 

It almost takes all of his willpower to resist calling out: "Hey, quit gagglefucking, spread it out!" Ah, to be young... 

And still, they continue, with the point man and wingman literally maintaining body contact, and keep their muzzles before flesh. Every time the Texan and the New Jerseyman sees a room entrance or a corner, Crown temporary takes point and slow down. At the same time, Buzzkill lowers his rifle, before the former slices and covers the angles, while the former raises his gun up, covering the front. Sometimes they take it slower to clear out unusually large rooms. They continuously switch positions between point man and wingman when the situation demands it. The pattern repeats itself until the team secures the place.

* * *

As Crown and Buzzkill advances forward, they have a rather interesting encounter. It all starts with a very suspicious noise. The point man, who is Buzzkill at that time, suddenly hears a human-like groan, and thus he and Crown immediately freeze and do an oriental check. When they confirm that there is someone there, both of them silently group their hips closer to the wall, and then slowly advance forward. 

While the wingman checks for their behind, the point man approaches the entrance, lowers his rifle, and put his body so that he can establish his exposure threshold and increases his concealment chances. He starts slicing to the narrow-angle and see no hostiles. Then he inches towards the 45 degrees angle, and there is no enemy. At 90 degrees, he snaps out of concealment with his gun raised, and he sees a humanoid figure. 

"Down on the ground!" He orders. The figure does not comply. 

He does a final check on the 150 and then 180 degrees angle, making sure that he makes enough space so that Crown has a bead on the person without risking a friendly fire accident, and pushes in along with Crown. From that part on, both of them splits up to cover the entire room. Even with two operatives pointing their rifles and are advancing at it, the figure stays unresponsive. 

"I said, get down on the ground, now!" 

It does not comply. In fact, it is safe to say that it is confused at the presence of the two operatives. So it judges their actions. Their languages. Their intention. And when it sees, it finds... 

The head of the thing suddenly jerks up, and even then, the two of them can't see anything under that layer of hair.

And then it pulls out a sacrificial knife.

"Drop your weapon and give up!" He orders again as his body language tenses up at the sight of the knife, and his finger slips to the trigger. 

The figure mutters something in an unknown language, harsh, ugly, and debased. It does not match anything the team leader had ever learned or even heard of. Then it screams at him and lunges at the closest person in the room. Unfortunately, the breaching team is simply too far away from the weapon's reach, and before it can recover...

"Hostile!"

Buzzkill and Crown open fire at the hostile.

Two suppressed coil SBR shots later, the figure falls on the ground, unmoving. Buzzkill wastes no time to aim his rifle at the thing's head and fires another shot, confirming the kill the moment he pulls the trigger. 

_"4 to 1, what the hell was that?"_ Asks Azura on the other side, who has obviously heard the weapon discharges.

"Alpha-0-1 to all callsigns, be advised: 0-1 and 0-2 had eliminated a hostile with a knife. Hostile was unresponsive and docile before it suddenly attacked. There might be more in the area. Exercise caution, double-check corners, and shoot to kill, over." Professionally responds the team leader.

_"Okay, safeties off. But are you alright, 1?"_

"We're uninjured, 4. Appreciate your thoughts, but focus on the mission, people. Out."

When they take a look at the corpse, both of them note about the unhygienic state (that's putting it lightly) of the body and wonder how did the thing doesn't die to infection earlier.

"It's like shooting SCPs in a barrel," Crown speaks. "Fucking plague doctor here didn't stand a chance."

He doesn't disagree.

He does feel a slight change of psionic pressure after the kill but shrugs it off.

Luckily for them, the rest remains uninteresting, as it is the only living being in the temple before them. The other duo does find a room full of skeletons and decomposing corpses - which the two Americans can hear their complaints even without the radio - but other than the above incident, there is nothing that the fireteam can't handle.

* * *

Soon, they passed through the garden and the mural, only to reveal a still working water fountain and a much more lived-in space, with tables, books, notes, candles, and a chalkboard with many scribbles on it. What surprises Buzzkill is the very obvious summoning pentagram on the chalkboard above. Of course, usually, people would have scoffed at this childish drawing, but in a world with alien overlords, their human-like puppets, and magical mind bullshit, he'd rather not take any chances. 

"Clear!" Buzzkill starts. 

"Clear!" Follows Crown. 

"Clear!" On the other side of the chamber, Merc replies. 

"Clear!" Finishes Azura, who then lightly gags. 

"Good. 3, 4, cover the room. 0-2 and I will search for intel." 

Buzzkill would rather have more men to cover the entire temple, but since his team is as understaffed as it is, he has to improvise. Besides, the more intel he has on this place, the faster they will find what to blow up before their mindshields implode on themselves. And judging from others, it seems that they also agree. 

"أمركَ سيّدي." 

'Да, сэр." 

"You're the boss." 

"Alright. Time to look for nothing." 

He grabs a black bag in one of his pouches and leaves the foreigner duo again to look for valuable intel. The first place he searches is the table, where nearly all the books and papers are. One of the most unusual objects on the table is a specific purple tome with a special symbol on it. A quick scan of the contents reveals that it is in a very different language. Not English, not Russian, Arabic, not even Alien Newspeak. Into the bag anyways. He then turns to another book... which is just an unimportant English dictionary. 

Another one has the same symbol on the cover, but with a different color. Thankfully, this one is in English and seems to be a translation of the first tome. The more he reads, however, the more nonsensical the book becomes. On page 105, he almost laughs when he catches _Scientific Evocation_ in the chapter title. On page 375, the topic changes from "science" to a step-by-step guide on how to make the most diabetic dish mankind can create and barely comprehend. On page 617, he just tiredly tosses the book into the bag once he read the chapter title, clearly done with its' inane bullshit.

He then looks at a particular notebook that he pickpocketed from the dead guy before. It seems to be a diary at first glance, but when he reads it, it is a culmination of different languages, both non-Terran and Earth-like. He even finds some pages written in Old English, but just as before, it is as fragmented and insane as the rest of the readable objects here. In the Modern English part, the writer seems to had a firm grasp on sanity at first, but as time went on, it was no longer the case. Among other things, that person wrote a haiku, a declaration of love to something that had been crossed out repeatedly, calling it blasphemous to cry the name in vain, and other, more ridiculous things. 

At least he knows this is a culminating project that spanned for centuries, if not millenniums, and was spearheaded with everyone with a bachelor of math or close equivalents. However, due to different languages, cultures, lines of thinking, and specialties, the project went nowhere. As written in the notes, they were using the powers of the Earth – in modern terms: psionic powers – to free something out or to keep something in. Apparently, someone resorted to necromancy to accomplish the job before dying of old age and obviously failed. He does not understand why, but he guesses it has something to do with the mural out there.

It does explain why there are unusual psi signals here. And why the person he killed acted like a nutjob.

Other scattered papers and notes more or less add up to his theory. Some are utterly useless and were literally used as toilet paper once. Others are full of symbols and metaphors that obviously go over the poor soldier's head. At least a few directly points out that the writings on the walls have some merits. Regardless he throws the useful ones into the bag. 

"Yo, boss, take a look," Crown calls out. He looks to his right and sees the grenadier skimming the board, taking pictures of the essential parts. 

"Anything useful?" Asks him. 

"Nothing worthy in the other rooms."

"No, I mean..." He points to the pentagram chalkboard.

Crown shakes his head. "It's just gibberish. Some of the writings here are Sindarin, Quenya, Tengwar, all kinds of language you'll find in Lord of the Rings." He then points to a string of words on the far corners of the board. "Over there are computer codes like Python, C+, Java, even codes for a clap, but the rest are just scribbles." 

"Can you figure out the codes?" 

He takes another look at the computer codes. "Basically, you run those scripts, chances are they'll brick the computer, or worst-case scenario, blow it all up. The clap is... it's the ILOVEYOU virus." 

"And what about the Elvish stuff, can you translate them?" 

"Do I look like Tolkien to you, boss? No, I can't."

He lets out a small sigh. "So, does it point out to anything?" 

"Nothing you don't know." Crown then turns his head to the object in question. "What about yours?"

He does not answer. He instead signals the team to regroup next to the chalkboard first. This is a discovery that the entire team must know.

It is Azura who asks first. "What do we got, Buzzkill?"

And it is Crown who answers first. "A lot of nothing and a lot of something. The board shows little to no intel, most of the readable writings here are gibberish; infatuations of someone's hentai fantasy, you can call it. Some noteworthy parts do point out an object of power and how the writers can use or liberate it, but that's all I can get." He then reaches out to his own bag and raises some pieces of parchments. "Some papers here are decryptions of the glyphs on that over-glorified pillar over there. They also add in my assumption that the mural is the source of the psionic powers here."

Buzzkill nods. "Goldmine. I got a truck-load of intel from these three books." He then passes the two tomes, the notebook and valuable papers to the rest of the team. "If you can ignore the insanity and the affront-to-science parts, they all point out to making or summoning a creature of sorts, and the mural also plays a big part. I also collected papers that reinforce this."

Merc, who is reading the translated tome, mutters to himself: "Что это за хрень? Seriously boss, is this actionable intel or literal steaming horseshit?"

"It's stupid, I know, but read through the lines, and you'll get the picture."

"I can't read horseshit."

"Anyways, as far as we know, the mural's the source of all of this. The more we leave it alone, the more psi it'll collect." Explains the team leader, who also knocks on his helmet. "And we all know what _psionic overload_ actually means."

"So, are we going to blow it up?" The Arabic woman asks. "I don't think collapsing the caverns will do us any better."

He nods. "Yeah, I agree, but we pretty much don't have many options. We don't have power tools and cable to remove the mural safely, we can't wait it out, and if we leave it alone, what's not stopping ADVENT from coming here to use this against us?"

"...fair point."

Nodding at her reply, he signals the team to move up to the soon-to-be-blown-up-obelisk.

But first, a report. 

"TOC, this is 0-1. How do you copy, over?" 

_"0-1, lima charlie. Report your status, over."_

"We've entered an unknown structure housing a strange, glowing mural. We suspect that's the psionic source in the AO, and are moving in to set up the X4 charge, over." 

_"Copy that, Alpha. Be advised; scanners indicate increased psi activity in your AO-"_

Suddenly the transmission gets cut off. The team leader tries to raise them again, but he is interrupted by a burst of golden and purple waves from behind. None of his team members lose their balances, but the telltale noise of a stressing mindshield returns, and when they look at their back, they see the obelisk glowing with runes and glyphs.

"Alpha 0-1 to TOC, do you cop-"

 _"-pha, please make haste!"_ The radio signal suddenly returns. This time, it isn't Central who has the mike. The team recognizes the voice, however, and it is the Head Scientist. Richard Tygan, his name is. _"We have picked up a massive spike in psionic powers in your area! The readings in the mountain range are... simply_ ** _staggering_** _. If you let it runs its course, the culminating energy will collapse on itself and... I cannot fathom the damage it will cause to the area!"_

The temple starts to rumble on its own right after the warning. The mural then bursts out a golden energy wave, straining their mindshields considerably. 

_Shit_. Thinks the entire team in their own respective languages. 

And then it is followed by an earthquake. And then their mindshields and helmets start to glow a bit purple – the telltale sign of psionic overload. And then the mural starts to glow majestic yellow. Everything else starts to glow golden, too. The garden starts to rapidly grow flowers and grass out of thin air. The water fountain starts to spray water; the summoning pentagram on the chalkboard starts to turn violet, and every single non-living object in the caves that are not nailed down to a solid wall begins to defy gravity. The temple is about to collapse on itself. On top of that, music can be heard from an unknown source. The entire ordeal is just too sudden and unannounced that they have been caught utterly unprepared.

 _Motherfucking shit!_ Thinks the entire team in English. 

_"You heard the doctor! Set up the X4 charge before the mountain collapses! I say again, plant the charge and get the hell outta there, over!"_

"Wilco, out!" He disconnects the call. "Merc, Milita, secure the exit! Crown?!" 

"Got it!" Replies the Texan, who rushes up the main attraction of the structure with a shaped charge on his hands. The team leader wastes no time to aid his fellow soldier's probable suicide mission.

After a bit of climbing and parkouring, the two of them find themselves right next to the obelisk. Crown immediately plants the X4 charge, sets it to HEAT mode (guarantee to blow up the mural and then some), and also to remote detonation method. At the same time, Buzzkill prepares the blasting cap and remote detonator. While the tasks themselves are rather quick and straightforward, the stress of the situation, the invisible countdown, the growing psi energy, the overloading mindshields, and the simple fact that they cannot screw the X4 up do make the job a tad bit harder.

 _"Fireteam Alpha, if you're gonna do something, you gotta make it fast!"_ Central warns them again. _"It's about to go critical!"_

When Central himself is ignoring radio protocols, the fireteam just simply knows that they are in deep shit.

"I don't think we're gonna make it," Crown mutters as he finishes the final touches on the X4. Buzzkill really has no comments about it, choosing to simply activates the detonator.

Regardless, the charge is activated and ready for detonation anyways. The grenadier gives the signal, in which the team leader wordlessly drags Crown out with him and rushes toward the exit.

This is immediately followed by another psionic burst, this one powerful enough to launch the two operatives away considerably. Sadly, even with the help, they are still on the platforms and within the blast radius. The burst also leaves their mindshields overheating.

Noticing it, Buzzkill starts to make out a plan to get out of there. Judging by their helmets' status and the myriad of horrifically majestic noises right behind him, he just simply knows that they have run out of time, and no matter what happens, he can save only one person. When it comes to him and Crown, the answer is obvious. So he springs into action, quickly recovers from his fall, drags and pushes his friend - along with the detonator - off the platform right before bracing himself for impact.

"SHIT!"

As the mural launches the final psionic wave, it launches the New Jerseyman off the platform suddenly and violently. In his possible last moment, he can briefly glimpse the grenadier being protected by the architecture, and the rest of his team looking at him behind cover, utterly horrified. He also sees where he is going to be splattered on - the opposite wall, of fucking course - and while Buzzkill instinctively and ineffectively tries to brace for impact again, he does not regret his untimely death.

The last thing he sees before hitting the wall is gold.

* * *

_"...didn't collapse. Incredible..."_

He can't hear them. They sound... so fragmented.

 _It fucking hurts,_ Buzzkill thinks to himself. _And I'm not dead yet,_ he adds. 

_"...me a sitrep. What's..."_ He can't bring himself to listen.

He is just unable to open his eyes for no particular reason. Maybe it is because of the immense pain he is feeling all over his body, maybe his consciousness is broken after that last psi wave. Either way, he is off monologing to himself in his mind, which is a surprisingly fresh reprieve from the operation and his near-death experience.

"...down, repeat, 0-1 is..." He can't even remember who has that voice.

 _Is my team alright?_ He immediately thinks of the first thing in his mind. _What happened to them?_

_..._

_..._

_..._

He mentally sighs. He's either dead or in a coma. Regardless of what happens next, he has little to no control of his team. He might as well cracks some jokes before going to hell.

_Guess I'll retire a cripple. My entire nervous system is somewhere between "fuck" and "all," and I'm in no mood to turn into a MECT. I've already lost an arm and a leg long ago, no need to change my penis into a robot..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_...maybe I should die. Just for that joke._

**_There is no need for that, my dear._** Suddenly says a feminine, calming, motherly and kind voice in his mind.

"...have a medkit! Help..."

Oh no. Not this.

Maybe he has finally gone insane and is probably regurgitating insanity out in the physical world.

**_This is not a dream. You are not a madman. This is real, dear._ **

Bullshit.

_Oh great, I'm probably a mess of a blood puddle on the floor, and suddenly, I hear voices in my head. Who are you supposed to be, and why I'm hearing from you again?_

As if he doesn't know the answer already.

It tries to calm him down. **_Please, I am not a threat, dear one. I want to save you from your fate._ **

"...hey, man, don't go into..."

_I think I'm probably better off tanning in the 9th level of hell than listening to a disembodied voice from the mural, thank you very much._

Because the alternative option is too dangerous for his team.

**_I will not stop. You deserve life. You think you are a man of sin, but you are still a good person, Wi-_ **

_Finish that sentence, and I'll end you slowly, bitch._ Immediately threatens Buzzkill.

It verbally backs away. 

**_I am sorry. I do not know that your name is a... touching subject._ **

Realizing what he just said does not matter much, he mentally sighs. 

_So what? I'm deader than dead, my friends are watching me mumbling like a mentally handicapped patient, and Command is probably writing me off as KIA. Now can you just shut up and get out of my head, because I think Satan is calling for my name._

"...the fuck, he's glowing..." He has a feeling that he starts to hear things more clearly, but he dismisses that train of thought for a moment.

**_...why do you disregard your life like that, dear?_ **

_None of your damn business._ Bitterly calls out Buzzkill. _And why are you calling me "Dear?" What, does millenniums inside the mural makes you thirsty for action?_

"...hold it right there..."

 **_I simply enjoy calling people like that._ ** It giggles. **_Especially people in need. Like you!_ **

_Ain't that ominous,_ the New Jerseyman thinks. But then something suddenly clicks in his mind. And when it clicks, he suddenly utterly, ultimately regrets snarking about his fate in the first place. He screams out: _What happened to the rest of my team?_

Its soothing voice tries to placate him. **_Just rest, dear. They are not injured. I will not permit any harm to my charges._ **

"I fucking said freeze!" Clearly yells out an accented voice. He can hear more clearly now, and can now gather intel about what is happening outside of his la-la land. "Get the hell-"

 _Merc?! Guys?!_ He instinctively yells out. When that does not work, he directs his anger at the only thing that can cause this: _You bitch! I swear, if you ever touch them, I will fucking kill you!_

 **_"He needs me, my dears."_ **Calmly and kindly replies the thing. Its voice reverberates inside his ears as well as his mind. **_Rest, my dear, and let me tend to your wounds. You have suffered long enough._ **

_What the hell have you done to them?!_ Uncaring of its reply, he screams out, seething with rage.

_..._

_..._

_..._

_Answer me, bitch!_

_..._

_..._

_..._

_Where the hell have you gone?_

* * *

Buzzkill's return to the mortal coil is rather quiet. Not an overdramatic gasp, not a constant blinking, and a sudden urge to launch his body up. In fact, the only thing that moves is his own iris.

The first thing he notices when he finally recovers his consciousness is that his body is glowing gold. Irrelevant.

The second is that the pain, while numbed, is still there. In fact, he would like to go so far as to say that his nervous system is completely overloaded. Not important.

The third thing is that his helmet is no more. He can see bits of the protective nano-alloy weave and mindshield pieces near his position. Not necessary.

The fourth, his rifle is not within his reach. Don't need it.

The fifth, he can feel something looming over him, and it's not any of his teammates. In fact, he is looking at a caucasian female in her 20, with long golden platinum hair, sapphire eyes, golden visible aura, and huge _assets_. She is even resting his head on her thighs. While this would make any horny boys pop their boner in an instant, he immediately recognizes her as the voice in his head.

When her eyes look at his own, she is elated at his revival. Her face slowly switches from concern to pure relief and happiness.

 ** _"I am glad that you are awake, my dear."_ **She says.

Don't care.

Sixth, the mural is a fucking ruin. Judging by the damages, it seems that the X4 have not been detonated yet. So what?

Seventh, his pistol holster on the plate carrier is _not_ empty. Bingo.

And so he springs into action by grabbing the pistol and pointing it at her head or her throat. Or, at least, that is what he intends to do. In reality, he only manages to move an inch of his right arm, before his sensation is overridden with pain. Even with the supposedly healing aura, his own determination and adrenaline, it is simply too much for him to bear. He screams out in distress, which alerts everyone of his current zombification process.

"Holy shit, he's alive!" Crown yells out in surprise.

At this point, he cannot maintain stealth anymore. He immediately turns to his left, getting out of the unknown woman's thighs, and starts vomiting blood all over the floor thanks to all the internal bleeding. Or at least, that is what he intends to do. In reality, before he lands headfirst into the ground, the young woman catches him first and sets him back into her thighs. He does spit out blood, but it all goes to her face. Unfettered, she keeps tending to him with an unwavering smile on her face.

He simply gives up at killing the bitch. He may as well as wait until she either stops and snaps or until she stops healing him. At least she does not even try to cull off the rest of the team yet.

 **_"I am sorry that our first meeting ends with such a bad impression of myself, dear."_ **She answers to him, her soothing and musical voice tries to calm him down.

Oh, fuck off.

He strains his head towards his teammates. Most of them seem unhurt, but they are wisely keeping a distance from the figure who is healing him with psi bullshit. Crown is even aiming at her, willing to take a shot if anything is amiss. He also notes that his rifle is also slung on the back of Crown's plate carrier.

"...is anyone... still alive..." He weakly asks his team.

 **_"They are as whole as ever."_ **Sweetly replies the figure.

"Yeah, I'm uninjured." Crown answers.

"All good." Azura continues.

"Everything's fine." Merc finishes.

**_"But you are not fully healed yet. Please rest, my dear..."_ **

"...how long was I out?" He questions again, with another weak cough.

The team starts to look at each other, unsure of how to answer the question.

"Two minutes." The Arabic woman finally opens her mouth. "And during that time, you were literally dead. You bled on the floor, pieces of your remaining bits were splattered from places to places, we could even see your skull. The medkits were barely able to keep the external wounds closed, and CPR couldn't get your heart jumpstart again. That is until you started glowing gold and she patched you up-"

He already has a general gist of how badly injured he was, so that is a bit unnecessary. So he tells her so, but with a bit deadpan and some recovered strength in his voice. "I asked _how long,_ not _how fucked_ , but thanks for the details anyways. No, seriously." Mentally, he would love to thank the glowing humanoid psi creature... thing for reviving his ass, but he knows very little of her to understand her actual goals. That, and he is not sure if he is a bona fide zombie yet. "Have you even warned TOC about the sitrep?"

"Umm..." Hesitates the Russian. "We did warn them about your... coma, but we haven't told them about..." He notions at the glowing woman. "...her."

"Great." Snarks Buzzkill. "Give me a second." He then tries to reach his own physical radio - since his headset is gone - but because he is still a crippled mess, he can not reach the device without recoiling back in pain. Seeing him again stressing himself to get his objective done, the psionic woman slightly frowns at his continued lack of self-preservation and gently lays his arm back to where it hurts the least. **_"Why must you strain yourself like that, my dear?"_ **She asks, nevertheless concerned about his health.

 _I didn't remember asking you a goddamn thing,_ he mentally remarks, fully knowing that she can read his mind. Still, she must have the heart of a saint (and weird sense of humor) when she merely chuckles at his somewhat abrasive reply. She wordlessly returns his remark with a gentle comb on his hair.

It is moments like this when he wishes that his mindshield is not in tatters yet.

Seeing their team leader's struggle, one of his subordinates decides to contact the Tactical Operations Center himself. 

"Chill out, boss. I got this." The Texan, as current acting team leader, keys his radio to base himself. "TOC, this is 0-2. 0-1 has recovered from NDE, requesting a MEDEVAC on our primary exfil point for Alpha, plus one HVI, over."

With Crown no longer raising the gun at her, Azura sees it fit to take aim at the still unknown individual.

The New Jerseyman can see the woman being slightly interested in the team's comm equipment, but he simply shrugs. Years of confinement would make everyone curious about modern tech. He cannot hear the reply, but he can guess that Central is probably relieved at his current survival... or not. To this day, he cannot figure out if his team is expendable or not.

"Uh, HVI is female, 20, caucasian, has golden aura, psi powers off the charts, currently tending to 0-1. Possible source of previous psionic radiation, over."

Another inaudible pause.

"Wilco, 5 minutes. 0-2 out." Crown disconnects the call. "Hey TL, TOC send their warmest regards back at base. And you..." He points toward the unnamed psionic witch. "You done patching him up?"

**_"He may look whole outside, but I need time to finish the rest of his wounds, my dear."_ **

Every single team member in the decrepit temple will be lying if they are not a bit unnerved with her constant usage of endearment terms.

"Well, whatever you're doing, at least make it fast, or finish it up so we can carry him back. After that, you're coming with us. Our organization has lots of questions about this place, and you specifically." 

"Wait, she's coming with us?" Questions Buzzkill.

"Yeah. Commander's orders." Replies the Texan. "Alright, double-time it, people. Cleric's coming in 5 minutes, we need to make it in 4."

"Motherfuck..."

The two remaining operatives nod. The psionic being, however, does not seems to agree to 0-2's plan. 

**_"But he is still in pain. Can you not see his state?"_** Her concern about her charge is clearly etched on her face. **_"_** ** _We must stay and wait, and I must complete mending his wounds."_ **

"We'll get him treated as soon as we get him back to our base, and as soon as we get to the extraction point. Now, I want you to step aside from him, ASAP." That is not a suggestion. That is a command. A command with an implied threat. Yet even with that, she remains unfettered and remains with the wounded man.

 **_"I must stay with him. I must nurse him back by myself. If I leave him like this, he will die."_** Pleads the HVI.

His eyes start to harden, and he begins to bear his rifle's sight up to his eyes. Seeing the swift change, someone has to step in before things go from bad to worse.

"Wait." Calls out Azura. In response, the grenadier quickly lowers his rifle. "Can she heal him while moving?"

 **_"Yes, I can, dear,"_** Elatedly replies the woman. **_"As long as I am close, I can restore your friend. But he must rest in a way that my magick can make him whole."_ **

"So you want him to lay somewhat on his back, head to the sky and all that, right?" The Arabic woman asks. When she gets a confirmation from the psionic being, she continues. "So how about Merc and me carry Buzzkill back to the entrance while Crown take point? Does that sound good?"

"Good idea, but who's watching the rear?" It is Buzzkill who rebukes her suggestion. "We're losing two guns just to carry some dead weight, and that leaves, what, 1 person to watch her and every single angle? What happens if someone jumps on our six? Who's covering that?"

**_"Do not fret, my dear. I can carry you all by myself."_ **

"Bull-"

The slim being quickly demonstrates her feat by swiftly and efficiently lifts about 120kg of meat, muscles, fat, cybernetics, and combat equipment up into the air, bridal style.

"-oh, what the hell?!" Immediately yelps out the team leader, who quickly clams onto her for support. "How'd you- ah, nevermind." And just like that, his surprise is squashed promptly by his professionalism's return. Even when he is downed, he still issues orders: "We've got our solution and an EVAC point, now haul ass, people. Crown, take point. Merc, support him. Azura, watch our back, and you stay within the team. Anything goes wrong, weapons free."

The implication is rather clear at this point. The team does not trust the psionic woman at all, but since she is cooperative and useful, they do not actually mind her much. If she changes that, then so do the fireteam.

Rather unsurprisingly at this point, she can still keep her serene kindness aura even with the implied threat.

 **_"I understand, my dears."_** She replies. **_"I know you are afraid of me, but you have nothing to be scared of. I hope that we may have chances to know each other more as time flies."_ **

Again, this makes the entire team a bit more unnerved with the psionic being with them.

Regardless, the entire team returns to business. They quickly form into a fireteam wedge and moves out of the temple, with the psi being, after some pointers, stays on the team's right.

As they leave the temple and return to the cave systems, Buzzkill cannot help but remind everyone just one last thing.

"So much for that bet, huh?"

* * *

"We've got movement!" A man with a chest rig, dark clothes, and a British accent yells out.

"Hey, we're blue, blue!" Merc calls out.

"Hold your fire, Soap, they're friendlies!"

"Oi, that's them!"

"Bloody hell, who's that broad?"

"Fucking hell, it's the 141..." Mutters Crown. "Of all the backup TOC can send..."

When the team returns to the outside world, they are no longer greeted with a van, but rather four figures with lighter combat gear and a VTOL gunship/troop transport waiting on the ground. Both fireteams recognize each other, and even though they are allies, not everyone is happy when they realize what the other fireteam is.

"Don't kill each other." Orders Buzzkill. "Price." He curtly acknowledges the team leader of Task Force 141.

"Buzzkill." The British Team Leader with a boonie hat professionally acknowledges his American counterpart.

And right next to him, another figure with the same uniform and equipment, this one with a skull balaclava, just like Merc, follows up with: "Who's the lucky girl here? Your girlfriend?"

"None of your business, Ghost." He replies with a middle finger. "Can you wankers help me up here, please?"

Two other operatives, identified as Roach and Soap (the two more tolerable 141 members for Alpha,) approaches Buzzkill and the HVI with a stretcher. "Here, put him up here."

 **_"I can hold him on my own, dears."_ ** Replies the psionic being, still being concerned with her charge's health. **_"You not need to bother him much."_ **

"Ma'am, we need you to put him there so we can treat him." Roach insists. "We have medical equipment in the VTOL to treat him, so please."

"Just do it." Sighs the New Jerseyman. The HVI slowly and surely lowers the man down into the stretcher, but still stay with him, willing to give him aid if needed. As he lays down onto the metal bed, Roach inserts an IV needle up his organic arm, while Soap pushes him up into the extraction vehicle.

"Holy shit, dude, is that you?" A figure waiting on the door of the aircraft - Cleric, his callsign is - calls out. He quickly folds the stretcher and secures Buzzkill down onto the interior of the VTOL. "I got you, brother-man."

"What up, Chair Force." Despite the rather possibly insulting words, Buzzkill is exhilarated to see another friendly face amid insane former SAS operatives and an affront to science and reality given human form. "Man, am I glad to see you."

"You too, man." The pilot replies, then he glances at the psionic woman right next to the wounded operative. "You wanna talk about-"

"Later. When we're clear. And with drinks."

"...alright, but just rest, okay. From what I heard, you got hurt badly." He begins to climb back at the cockpit, but before that, he turns to the HVI. "Hey, ma'am?"

She momentarily turns her head from her charge to Cleric. ** _"Yes, my dear?"_ **

A quick cringe at the endearment term aside, he continues: "What's your name anyways? I don't think everyone here has ask it before."

The HVI smiles again.

**_"You can call me Mercedes, my dear."_ **

As people starts to climb upto the VTOL, and as the slider doors starts to automatically close, Buzzkill suddenly mentally facepalms himself. _Why the hell didn't we ask for the HVI's name in the first place,_ he thinks to himself.

_**"It is fine, my dear. I do not mind much about my name."** _

_Please get the fuck outta my brain._

* * *

**_Meanwhile..._ **

**_Sector 17, Outskirt North..._ **

**_Approximately 1500km away from Templar HQ..._ **

**_Approximately 4km away from XCOM Outpost "Stalker"..._ **

**_Approximately 2000km away from ADVENT Regional HQ..._ **

* * *

"...She has returned."

"What did you say, my archbishop?" A cloaked figure asks the more lavishly decorated one.

"The goddess has returned to this cursed land of silence." The latter replies. "At last, after so many years in this colorless land, we shall have our salvations! It is by Her grace that we will return to glory! Alert the priesthood and the knights! Today is the day we reclaim our holy lands from the hands of the heretics!"

The cheers do not ablate the concern of his underling. "My lord, but what about the witches, the pretenders, and the outworlders? If we can sense Her, then they must too."

"We will still continue to find and punish them, yes. But our priority still lies in Her..."

"But what if the heretics have caught Her Grace? Especially the cowards with the cursed cross, dome and stars..."

"..." The archbishop hesitates for a moment. "...then they will die like the usurpers before them. Gather the Council. We must begin our _preparations_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, more worthless trivia!
> 
> The fireteam's theme: [UFO](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S77Dfzzyf-c)  
> The team leader's theme: [Noir Vs. Foreboding Bass](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOseUUMIwok)


End file.
